


Afterlife

by diabla616



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/diabla616
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his death Credo  is un amused to find himself in hell, though the appearance of a certain half devil soon changes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the now pretty much abandoned dmc kink meme. The prompt was Vergil + Credo - afterlife

Credo hadn't expected to find himself in Hell. There _were_ more observations than that to be made; acknowledgement perhaps of the many twisted, tortured souls screaming in pain to his right, or the rivers running blood to his left, but the first thing which struck him was how wholeheartedly he'd _not expected_ to be here. Demons went to Hell. **He** was a knight of the Order of the Sword, and a damned good one at that. He'd fought faithfully for them his whole life, only to die defending his beliefs. He'd kept himself pure and righteous too, any improper urges had been kept to himself; he'd never _indulged_ and that was the point really. Wasn't it?

Credo wasn't stupid, he'd known exactly what _different_ meant in a society like that of Fortuna. And so he'd prayed to Sparda for strength, because really, there was no-one more likely to grant it. So years of carefully-constructed repression had become his shield, one which hadn't shown even the slightest sign of cracking until Nero showed up. He'd long-since tired of the realisation that _life itself_ was unfair though, and so even this system shock was met with the same stoic resolution he applied to his post at the head of his section of the Order.

The boy his kind-hearted sister had found lost and lonely in the street had grown into a brash, headstrong young man, irritable, argumentative and impossible to manage. This, however, did not prevent him from turning Credo's much-prized self control on its head. The boy was alluring enough to bring guilty realisations Credo had long since believed locked away crashing back into his consciousness with terrifying force. Truthfully he'd half-believed that Fate herself was mocking him when he'd found out that Nero was to be given over to his charge.

He'd realised that Nero was a demon long before anyone else; glimpses of glowing scales and curved talons could not really be mistaken for anything else. Horrifyingly the thought didn't deter him, instead spurred him on, _aroused_ him. Though a chance comment from Agnus had prompted something ugly inside him. That the snivelling scientist had thought he was doing his Holiness a service hadn't helped allay the churning sensation in his gut when Agnus pointed out Nero's attachment to Kyrie.

Jealousy was perhaps what prompted him to put himself forward as a candidate for the ascension ceremony. That and the vain hope that the divine blood he would be receiving would quell his unusual desires.

But then Dante had appeared. The presence of the half-demon hunter neatly fucked the Order's plans beyond all recognition. Though Credo could not bring himself to be affronted at such a catastrophe when faced with the sight of the white-haired half devil. In his defence, he reasoned, half of Fortuna was enthralled by their handsome enemy.

So he'd accepted his Holiness' offer of purification, hoping it would purge these irrational thoughts. The ceremony itself troubled him, though he fought the wariness, telling himself he was _divine_ now. Which is perhaps why it hurt even more with Nero snarling that all he'd become for his troubles was a demon.

Someone shifted behind him, or some _thing_ he corrected himself, bringing him back to the reality of the moment. The ascension ceremony had fine-tuned his senses to the point where he could smell demons, and whatever was behind him now was not fully human, of that Credo was sure. The man behind him moved forward, something Credo felt rather than heard, and he caught his breath.

Hands brushed at his waist, something which should not have felt so oddly intimate. To his body though, so unused to physical contact, it had immediate effect. His senses prickled as his body awoke. Steadying his breathing he fell into the same prayer as ever, lips moving in silent entreaty. Slim fingers stroked absently at his chin in an age-old gesture of self-comfort

 _Our lord Sparda, strongest of all, grant me strength that I might not..._

A chuckle echoed behind him, and a low voice commented,

"That never did work, did it?"

The scene around him shifted, leaving him off balance and dizzy as he looked around the circular room. Arched mirrors lined the walls, framed in gilt. The floor swirled beneath his feet, sickeningly crimson in the dim light. Tentatively he lifted his gaze to the mirror, hands trembling slightly at the thought of what he might see.

The view in the mirror made his heart flutter, and his spirits sink as he studied the face of the man who stood tantalisingly close. Platinum bangs were drawn back into a severe hairstyle which did nothing to disguise an angular, handsome face. Steely blue eyes met his own in the glass and swept down over his reflected form. _If Dante's here,_ his mind noted, _then they won._ He felt strangely depressed by this realisation.

In the mirror elegant lips curved into a slight smile, and a soft voice said,

"No."

He quirked an eyebrow in question,

"No?"

"I'm not Dante."

The voice was lower, huskier than he remembered, sending ripples of arousal through him. Though it was unmistakably Dante's voice, the very same one which had inserted itself into his traitorous dreams from the day he'd first heard it. He glanced over his shoulder at the man who wasn't Dante; he was wearing a blue and gold frock coat in place of the red leather, and his hair was drawn back from his face. The face however was the same one he'd seen in his dreams for a while now. If it wasn't Dante then it was an excellent likeness; his memories, his _senses,_ knew the son of Sparda well.

The figure in the mirror moved nearer, closing the minute gap between their bodies. He could feel the press of a firm body against his own, and watched, enthralled as the man elegantly slipped the blue coat from his shoulders. His own coat followed suit, prompting a shudder which had nothing to do with the temperature. Warm breath ghosted over his ear as the man murmured something, which could have been a request or an order. It didn't matter; Credo was in no position to refuse him _anything._

His breath caught in his throat as sharp teeth grazed his shoulder, drawing beads of blood to the surface. Though it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, wounds healed quickly in his new incarnation, his healing boosted by the blood in his veins which he no longer truly believed was divine.

His trousers soon followed his coat to the floor, and a soft but forceful palm on his lower back urged his body into a more accommodating position. He complied blindly, hands braced onto the mirror in front of him for support.

Slender fingers stroked him inside, in threat, or perhaps promise of what was to come. Lost in sensation his eyes slid closed, only to open in protest as the fingers were removed sharply. Though he couldn't hold back his moan of approval once he felt something bigger enter him.

He gasped out a groan as the stimulation on his prostate increased momentarily, prompting a harder thrust from the demon behind him. Another equally forceful impulse drove his forehead into the mirror, the sharp pain from the knock prompting him to steady himself with his palms flat on the surface of the mirror. This angle also afforded a better view of his companion, and Credo took his time to study the sight. The demon's eyes were hooded, elegant lips once again curled into a half smile. The surge of pleasure Credo felt when the man behind him drew in his breath with a hiss buckled his knees, and almost undid him.

It was far from perfect, the near-constant burn that accompanied every surge of pleasure a reminder that the demon behind him, inside him, was well-endowed indeed. Though he had to admit, he'd had no idea just how close to perfection such a sin could be. His body ached with the tension of a release he'd denied himself forever, and thrummed with the pleasure of the forbidden act.

His eyes met those of the man behind him in the mirror, flinching slightly at the glare which was no less intense in reflection. He held his gaze though, silently demanding an answer, even as the sensations threatened to overwhelm his body. _Who are you if not Dante?_

"Vergil" And then, as if _knowing_ were the trigger he came, crying out the name of the man behind him as Vergil shuddered into his own climax.

The room may have shifted around him again as his eyes slipped closed, but Credo couldn't be certain. Though when he woke the scenery was different again; he was lying on a rickety bed, in a dingy room. Outside howls of pain sounded, but muffled as if they came at him from a distance. Azure eyes watched him as he stretched his body awake.

As the piercing gaze raked over his stretched out figure once more Credo couldn't help but think, while it wasn't the ideal place to be spending one's afterlife, perhaps _Hell_ was a bit of a misnomer.


End file.
